


French Boys

by hyperion



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Size Difference, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 09:33:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyperion/pseuds/hyperion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames' habit of picking up prostitutes is unhinging Arthur.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Though this story does mention underage prostitutes, there are no sexual scenes with underage characters.

Because of extradition laws, Cobb often worked in France. That was where Cobb found Eames, who was slowly making his way back to England from his last job in Italy. He came highly recommended, but Arthur insisted on his own background check. Arthur quickly discovered that Eames had gambling debts (“We can’t risk it. Someone could flip him or put pressure on him because of the money he owes.”) and that he had a penchant for prostitutes.

Young, male prostitutes at that. And while Arthur could not fault Eames for liking men, some of the prostitutes were as young as sixteen years old. One of Arthur’s contacts told him that he was being very American about sex and things were different in France. Arthur brought it to Cobb, trying to make it seem like his American ideals were not an issue. “The age of consent may be fifteen, but child prostitution is still illegal.”

But they couldn’t afford to be picky about the people they worked with, since true talent and capability were hard to come by, no matter how despicable that reasoning was.

Arthur noticed patterns too. Eames would hire at least two prostitutes, but no more than three, a week. At least one, but sometimes all, would be hired for multiple evenings. Every prostitute was young or looked an indefinable young, perhaps a twenty-something. Many of them had dark hair and eyes. They were all gorgeous, thin but not hungry. They were, Arthur realized, the opposite of Eames.

He wondered how they looked in bed with Eames. Did Eames hold them down, cover them with his thick body, weight pressing them into the mattress, deeper with every thrust? Did they wrap their wiry thighs around him, moan loudly and wantonly, struggle against him to fulfill his fantasies? Or did he let them work, let them straddle him and bring him off while he enjoyed touching their bodies, watching their lean muscles move and their mouths open and eyes closed?

Frankly, it was distracting. Arthur told himself that he was worried about the possible ramifications of Eames getting arrested for something like this and that bringing the police down on their heads. And he was worried about that, sure. But part of the problem was that Eames was both infuriating and infuriatingly sexy, and he was bringing home young men who looked like they could be Arthur’s cousins; and Eames had spent his time only teasing Arthur instead of bending him over the nearest hip-high surface. Arthur found himself wondering what was wrong with himself? He seemed to be Eames’ type. He decided that he must be too old for Eames, being older than the legal drinking age in America.

That did not mean that Arthur stopped obsessing over Eames and his prostitutes. In fact, he tracked one that Eames seemed to favor and hired him for a few hours. Étienne was eighteen with dark brown hair, dark eyes, and dimples. He was a few inches shorter than Arthur and thinner, lacking some of Arthur’s musculature.

“What do you like?” Étienne asked the minute the door to the apartment was closed.

“I would like some information about one of your clients.”

Étienne unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt casually, as if relaxing. “I’m sorry. I don’t give away my friends’ secrets.”

“I’ll buy them.”

Shaking his head, Étienne said, “My profession is like the priesthood. Sometimes people confess their sins, and I feel morally bound to keep them. Why do you want to know about my clients, anyway? Wouldn’t you rather lie back and let me suck your cock? You look like you could use some stress relief.”

“Take off your clothes,” Arthur said, not meaning to. “Lie on the bed.”

Étienne smiled and did as he was told, stripping in a way that was supposed to seem ordinary but meant to show off his body to Arthur. When he lay on the bed, Arthur sat on the edge and placed his hand on Étienne’s waist. “Is this okay?” he asked. Étienne nodded.

Arthur pulled a photograph of Eames out of his breast pocket and handed it to Étienne. “Tell me what he did to you,” he said while he stroked Étienne’s flank.

“Why do you want to know?”

“Did he touch you like this?” Arthur asked, running his hand across Étienne’s skin reverently. “Or was he rough with you?” Arthur caught the wrist of the hand holding the picture and squeezed harshly.

“Do you want anything from me? Sex? Someone to talk to?”

“I told you, I want to know about this man.”

Étienne pursed his lips, coming to a decision. “I’ve been to his apartment several times. Each time, he only touched me once, like this.” Étienne sat up, pulling his wrist from Arthur’s grasp, and gently touched the side of Arthur’s face. Then he leaned forward and planted a soft, chaste kiss on Arthur’s lips.

“And then we were done,” Étienne explained.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“You were at his apartment for hours,” Arthur accused.

“I swear, that’s everything he did to me. And now, if you are done, I will go.”

“Wait—”

“Arthur, you do not want me here,” Étienne explained indulgently as he dressed. “You want him, not me. And really, it would have been easier to knock on his door instead of tracking me down. So go to him. Tell him how you feel and I’m sure that he’ll not turn you away.”

Arthur stewed on that while Étienne finished dressing and left. He decided that Étienne, as a prostitute, had a skewed image of dating. Of course Étienne wouldn’t turn a good customer away, but Eames could turn Arthur away if Arthur just walked up to his door and said, “I think I somehow fell in love with you, you possibly pederast ass, so love me back.”

But then, Eames also seemed to respond well when Arthur sneered at him. Well, not well, but it kept the conversation going. Eames didn’t throw his hands in the air and march off and refuse to speak to Arthur ever again, so that was something at the very least. Arthur decided that maybe he could go and just knock on Eames’ door and see where that led.

It did not take long to get himself together and walk to Eames’ apartment building. He was in 307, and Arthur took antsy steps back and forth in front of the door. This was a really stupid idea, and Eames was stupid, and Étienne was stupid. God, Arthur was stupid.

The door opened before Arthur could walk away. “Can I help you, Arthur?” Eames asked.

Arthur had had every intention of coming here and telling Eames he loved him, probably with shouting and accusations and ending in a frantic explosion of love/hate and never really getting anywhere, but now that he was face to face with Eames, all he could think was, “Stupid sexy smirk and stupid sexy lips.”

“I’m sorry. I was just leaving,” Arthur finally managed.

“Come in, Arthur,” Eames invited.

“No.”

“No? You’ve been hopping around outside my door for fifteen minutes. Obviously, you have something to say to me, so come on in and let’s talk.”

“You’ve been putting our operation at risk by hiring underage prostitutes,” Arthur rushed out.

Eames looked surprised and then his mouth set in a grim line. “Should have known you’d be looking in on me. Is that all you wanted, Arthur?”

Arthur nodded.

“Fine. I’ll continue doing as I please and you’ll continue being you. Good night.”

Arthur stopped the door from closing all the way, pushing it back open and slipping in past Eames. “What is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Why are you hiring prostitutes?”

“Some might say that prostitution is an easier, more efficient relationship than monogamy.”

“Bullshit,” Arthur argued.

“No, really,” Eames said. “Both partners know exactly what they are getting, no more, no less. Things get a great deal messier when there are feelings involved, especially when you have to see each other every day, or, God forbid, have a long distance relationship. Those are always difficult. Hiring a prostitute is not.”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest. “That may be true, but we both know that’s not why you do it. Why are you hiring prostitutes that look like me and then just kissing them and sending them on their way? Why aren’t you bothering with me at all, since it’s so obvious you’re using them as a substitute for me?”

Eames sighed and shook his head. “You see? Prostitutes are easier. Come with me,” he beckoned as he walked down the short entrance hall and through the living room to a closed door. “Tell me, Arthur, in the background check you did on me, did you happen to come across where I went to school?”

“I can’t remember the name of it, but it was an art school.”

“Yes,” Eames said and opened the door. It was a bedroom that had a messy bed against the wall, a chair set in front of an easel, and paper and pencils everywhere. There were completed and half-finished drawings hanging on the walls and lying on the floor out of the way. Some poster-sized drawings were rolled up and tied.

Arthur approached the easel, seeing a picture of one of the younger prostitutes almost completed. He was another Arthur look-alike, and he was flopped across the bed like a ragdoll, looking relaxed and sleepy. He had a small smile on his face, eyes half open, and he was naked.

“This is Alphonse. He is seventeen. He wants to play professional football, and he uses some of his money to buy new cleats and go to matches. The rest of his money goes to helping his grandmother, who raised him from a baby. She thinks that he works as a delivery boy. He’s actually very shy, but one of his friends acts as his pimp and makes sure that only nice men pick him up.”

“Nice men don’t have sex with children who don’t have any other options,” Arthur said to Eames, turning away from the portrait.

“No, they don’t,” Eames conceded.

“So why are you using them?”

Eames thought for a moment about how to best explain it. “I use them because they’re beautiful and they don’t mind getting naked for me. I’m not that different from their usual Johns, I guess.”

“And you couldn’t tell me that I’m beautiful and you want me to get naked for you?” Arthur asked hotly.

Eames looked a little surprised. “Honestly, I thought you’d turn me down. You don’t seem to like me very much.”

Arthur stared at Eames like he was impossibly simple. “I don’t have to like you, Eames. Most days I can’t stand you. And if you think me realizing that I’m in love with you will make my feelings for you any softer, you’re wrong. So stop being an imbecile and draw me like one of your French boys.”

“Er…okay. Take off your clothes.” Eames tried to be professional by hanging a fresh piece of paper on the easel and gathering his pencils and charcoal sticks while Arthur undressed.

“How do you want me?” Arthur asked.

“There are so many ways to answer that question,” Eames sighed. “Just up on the bed, however you’re comfortable.”

Arthur reclined on his side, facing Eames, propped against the pillows. “Is this okay?”

Eames looked him over, being careful not to let his eyes linger. “Um,” he said, approaching Arthur, “let me just do this.” He mussed Arthur’s hair a little, loosening strands from the strangle hold Arthur’s products had on it. “Okay, now stay right as you are.”

He went back to his easel and began sketching the lines of Arthur’s body. On his side, Arthur’s shoulder, waist, and hip were accentuated, making his shoulders look broader and his waist look smaller. It made Eames a little breathless to see the contradiction, how he looked both more powerful and more delicate. Eames did not recall drawing Arthur’s long legs, because he had spent that time imagining wrapping his arms around Arthur and squeezing tightly, making Arthur gasp and wrap his arms around Eames’ shoulders in return.

Arthur was very distracting, but Eames managed to make it through the rough sketch. He started adding in shadows and details. The light illuminated half of Arthur’s face, his bare shoulder and hand, part of his chest, his hip, and most of his thigh. Eames heavily shaded everything else to mark the contrast more vividly. He was nearly half-way through when he decided that he couldn’t possibly wait any longer.

Eames walked away from his easel and approached Arthur on the bed. “Is this what you wanted when you came here tonight?” he asked, taking off his shirt and dropping it on the floor.

“You’re getting charcoal on your clothes,” Arthur replied instead of answering the question.

Eames dropped his pants and underwear. “The charcoal is going to get everywhere, I’m afraid.” He crept onto the bed, hands leaving dark smudges on the white sheets.

“You’re not touching me with that all over your hands.”

“Oh, yes, I am,” Eames said, grabbing Arthur’s thigh as he tried to scoot away. Arthur practically squawked at that, but Eames paid it no attention as he pulled Arthur toward him so that Eames could lie next to Arthur, holding him tightly and leaving black fingerprints on Arthur’s skin. “I’ve been dying to touch you since I first saw you.” Eames was half on top of Arthur now, streaking Arthur’s arm and chest with charcoal.

Arthur let Eames touch his face but caught Eames’ wrist when he reached down for Arthur’s cock. “I’ve been dreaming about that mouth of yours, and when Étienne kissed me…”

Eames kissed Arthur, pressing his lips chastely against Arthur’s at first. When Arthur relaxed against him, loosening his fingers on Eames’ wrist, Eames nudged open Arthur’s mouth with his own. Eames and Arthur were kissing like it was a battle as Eames moved fully on top of Arthur. Their cocks met as Eames settled his weight on top of Arthur.

Arthur tangled himself around Eames, thrusting up to get more contact. Eames pulled back from Arthur, watching his face as Eames thrust down into Arthur, rubbing their cocks together. “I want your mouth on me,” Arthur moaned. Eames nipped Arthur’s bottom lip. “You’ll get it, poppet, but you’ll have to come for me first.”

They spent several minutes like that, thrusting into one another, Arthur’s legs tightening around Eames’ hips to pull them together harder. When Arthur came, it was with a cry and a shudder. Eames came with him, too turned on by Arthur to stop himself. When he was coherent again, he was slumped against Arthur, all of his weight resting on his forearms and the body beneath him, with Arthur stroking his fingers through Eames’ hair.

Catching his breath, Eames slipped down Arthur’s body, fingers still leaving faint marks as they felt their way down Arthur’s skin. Once Eames was settled comfortably between Arthur’s thighs, he began to clean up their mess. Eames’ lips, which were sensitive anyway, always seemed more so after a heavy round of kissing, and they conveyed the smooth texture of Arthur’s skin and the silky-stickiness of Arthur’s come better than his roughened fingertips ever could. It was a new way to experience Arthur, and he put it to good use as his mouth moved over Arthur soft flesh and hard bones. When he made it to Arthur’s cock, he spent more time there than he strictly needed to, sucking Arthur’s flaccid cock into his mouth and getting a shuddering near-orgasm that left Arthur whimpering.

When he was finally done, Eames crawled back up Arthur’s body. “So, you love me, huh?”

Arthur took a moment to figure out if he could deny it now that he had gotten that out of his system or not. “Yeah, I guess.”

Eames chose his next words carefully, stroking Arthur’s cheek with his thumb. “Is it okay if I try to love you too?”

“Try?” Arthur asked, affronted.

“Well, you’re not going to make it easy on me, are you?”

“Easy is for underachievers. If you’re going to love me, you’re going to have to put in some effort.”

“I believe you,” Eames said, pulling Arthur into his arms as he lay back on the bed.

“And no more prostitutes, or else I will have to kill you.”

Eames yawned sleepily. “Jealous, love?”

“No. You really are putting our job in jeopardy. Stop it.”

That was how Eames knew that they would be okay together: If Arthur could profess his love and still threaten Eames and focus on the job, they would be okay.


End file.
